Words
by haraamis
Summary: A fight, makeup sex, and Harry thinking about his love for Ginny. HarryGinny. Romance


**Title: **Words

**Pairing: **Harry/Ginny

**Prompt:** Harry and Ginny

**Warnings:** mention of sexual situations, nudity, romance

**Disclaimer: **The characters belong to their respective owners, the story is mine.

**Summary:** A fight, make-up sex, and Harry thinking about his love for Ginny.

**Notes:** For Nee. Also, I'd like to point out that while I do support and reasonably like this pairing in canon, I am a Harry/Draco shipper at heart when it comes to fanon. I hope I still managed to do them justice. 

* * *

Harry serenely gazes down at the sleeping woman in his arms. Tousled red hair curls against delicate white skin with a sprinkle of freckles here and there, and the last rays of the setting sun that fall through the large bay window catch in the strands, making them gleam like fine spun copper. She is so beautiful. 

They are lying on the couch, legs entangled and naked bodies molded into each other under the blanket. It's funny how Ginny is usually the one to drift off to sleep after their lovemaking. However, Harry doesn't mind. He cherishes these precious moments when the feeling of incredible closeness still lingers, his body sated, heavy, and tingling in the aftermath. He loves watching her sleeping face, relaxed and unguarded. He loves feeling the smoothness of her firm, but gently yielding body curved into his. He loves _her_ so very much.

The sex has been amazing, as usual, but Harry feels a pang of regret when he remembers what led up to it. A stupid fight. The issue itself had been trivial, really, in fact, he's not even quite sure anymore what it was, but, as stupid fights usually go, this one derailed from the original topic rather quickly.

It's the words that followed, and are still present in his mind, that have not quite lost their sting yet. _"How can I know that you love me when you never tell me? Why do you never tell me? "_

He does tell her. With every tender look, with every kiss, and with every time he makes love to her. But he knows it is words she wants to hear.

Harry isn't good with words. Not with those words. He doesn't know why, but he feels ridiculous saying them out loud, awkward and clumsy. As if he only says them for the sake of saying them, not like he means them. As if he only says them because she expects him to. That makes them just empty, weightless words. He doesn't blame her, though. He blames himself for not being able to give her what she wants, what seems to be so important to her. She deserves so much more.

Yet, he just couldn't bring himself to utter those three simple words. Especially not right then when she demanded it. So he finally just told her he's sorry. She stood there, rigid, angry, disappointed. He took her in his arms, kissed her, struggling to make her understand. She resisted for a while, but he wouldn't give up until she leaned into him at last, whispering that it was ok. He was certain it was not, but further arguments were not going to help.

They ended up making love frantically, desperately, and needy until they both cried out loud, and then once more, slowly and gently. They collapsed onto the couch afterwards in a tangle of limbs, unwilling to move, reluctant to separate, so Harry pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch to cover their cooling bodies.

Despite everything Harry knows she is perfect for him. Her strength, her devotion, her loyalty, her passion, her love, it all makes him feel whole. There is nothing more comforting than holding her and being held in return, than having her look at him with affection and love shining in her eyes. There is nothing more enjoyable than teasing her and watching her face flush as she gets caught up in a discussion, avidly defending her point of view. There is nothing more exhilarating than watching her fly and flying with her, circling and chasing one another at a speed that is pure madness.

He plays his fingertips over her bare shoulder peeking out from under the blanket. He gets distracted by the dip above her collar bone, strokes it idly before moving further along to the gentle slope of her throat. He wants to make her happy.

He traces her jaw and the line of her face, gently brushing a couple of strands from her eyes and tucking them behind her ear. He wants to make her his and his alone.

He tilts his head to kiss each of her eyelids and the tip of her nose. He wants to be with her forever.

He watches her as she sighs and stirs. Her eyes open slowly and she blinks sleepily up at him. And suddenly, the words are there.

His heart is thudding loudly in his chest, and he feels as if his chest is going to burst with all the emotion that fills him to the brim. He cups her cheek with his hand, tenderly, delicately, packing all his feelings into this simple touch. Their eyes lock and Harry wants nothing more than to kiss her, but he needs to say this first.

"I love you, Gin," he pauses and smiles. "Will you marry me?"

Shock, incredulity, and then unadulterated joy fly across her face in a blur of emotions. When she finally nods, still speechless and tears welling up in her eyes, Harry bends down and nuzzles her nose, then hugs her tightly to him. He knows that this time he's found the right words.


End file.
